by Drew Elyse
A picture. She sent me a fuckin’ picture of a pair of red lace panties laid out on top of what appeared to be a fuckin’ drawer full of similar folded pairs in different colors. I shot off in my hand at the sight. It was not the last time I called that picture up either.
I felt like a pubescent fuck who recently discovered the joy of coming. I hadn’t masturbated so much since I was a teenager, but fuck if I could stop. One flirty text from her, one thought of that picture, or any of the mental images I cooked up, and I was bringing myself there again. I told myself more times than I could count that I could grab one of the girls and have her help with the problem, but none of them held any appeal. I didn’t want just any warm pussy to sink into, I wanted fire. I wanted a girl who had me aching before I even touched her.
I wanted Cami.
The moment at hand had me dreaming up a whole new set of images. Had I ever had sex on my bike?
Me: No. Never had a woman on my bike.
Though, that seemed like something that needed rectifying.
Cami: Like, at all? Or sexually speaking?
Me: At all.
Cami: Seriously?
Me: Ain’t puttin’ random pussy on my bike.
With the exception of my mom—who would “never, ever do it”—or a woman I at least planned to make my old lady, no chick was getting on my baby. I’d give her a ride on my bike, though. Whatever kind she wanted.
Of course, Cami was the type of woman I would seriously consider making my old lady.
I was sitting on the couch in the clubhouse while I had that conversation with her. It was quiet at that moment, but it was the middle of the afternoon. Most of the guys were busy and a couple were probably sleeping. Jack, the new prospect, was scrubbing down the bar top. He’d only been around a few months, so we had not given him a road name yet. It would come when inspiration struck one of the boys. Kid seemed like he might hack it around the club, but he was a little soft. Of course, he was also joining now that we were out of the seedier phase of our history. I’d prospected when the club was still trying to climb back out of that hole, so I saw a lot more of the shit this life could include than the kid would probably have to. At least, most of my brothers and I sure fuckin’ hoped that was the truth.
“Remember when that was us?” Ham said, plopping down next to me.
Ham was huge, biggest man in the club. He had to be 6’5” and around two hundred and fifty pounds of solid muscle. He looked a lot more like he could lift a car than the character from The Sandlot he got his nickname from. All it took for the name to become permanent was him throwing out, “You’re killin’ me, smalls,” one time when he’d been charged with holding up one end of the pool table so another brother could fix one of the legs.
“Yeah, I remember the days when we had to be everyone’s bitch,” I answered.
Ham and I started prospecting a few months apart and earned our patches at the same time. We had bonded over the hours of shit grunt work, and I considered the big guy my closest friend and brother. I trusted every man wearing the Disciples’ patch with my life, but Ham was like blood to me.
I looked over at him and the smell hit. “Brother, you smell like hooch and pussy, take a fuckin’ shower.”
He laughed. “You can probably scent that shit out because it’s been a long ass time since you’ve had any.”
“Yeah, well, I’m still paying for my last fuck.”
“Roadrunner’s not off your ass over the Stacey shit?”
Roadrunner had been on me from the minute I walked into the garage the morning after I met Cami. Apparently, Stacey had pitched a damn fit while I’d been gone, saying she couldn’t work with “a self-serving, man-whore asshole”. Roadrunner refused to acknowledge he’d probably made that shit a whole lot fuckin’ worse when he told her she was working in the wrong place if that was her requirement. So, Stacey had walked out and left us in a bind. As retribution, I was on fuckin’ desk duty as well as getting to all my normal work around the garage. I’d been working well into the night most days to keep up with it all.
I snorted. “If he rides me any harder, I’m gonna have to buy him a bottle of lube.”
“I had no idea you liked to bottom,” Ham shot back. Dick.
“Shut the fuck up,” I told him. “I’m serious, though. I don’t even think he’s looking for a damn replacement. I think he likes me having to bust my ass day and night.”
“Could be worse,” Ham said offhandedly.
“Really?”
“Yeah, you could also be hung up over some off-limits pussy.” He smirked, and then feigned a lightbulb moment. “Oh, that’s right, you are.”
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ. Is it fuckin’ rag on Gauge month and no one informed me?”
“You still texting that bitch?”
I shit you not, my phone picked that moment to come to life in my hand.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Ham muttered.
“Fuck you, asshole. It’s my mom,” I told him as I answered. “Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, Linda!” Ham shouted.
“Hi, honey. Is that Ham yelling at me?” she asked, knowing the answer. “Tell that boy if he wants to stay on a first name basis, he better get his behind out here for dinner with you sometime.”
I looked at Ham. “Mom says you need to get your ass to dinner at hers, dick.”
“Joshua! Mouth!” Mom snapped in my ear.
“Sorry, Mom.”
“I don’t even know why I bother,” she muttered. Honestly, I didn’t either. I might try to clean up my mouth around her, but we both knew she wasn’t changing shit when she wasn’t around. I didn’t say that, though. I had a certain sense of self-preservation, and pissing off my momma was not a fuckin’ wise move.
Ham nudged my arm. “Tell her I’ll come with next time you go. But I want pot roast.”
I relayed the message to Mom, to which she replied, “He’ll get what I make and like it,” but we both knew she’d end up making pot roast.
I gave Ham a look, letting him know he’d get it, and headed out. I had to get back to the garage. The last thing I needed was Roadrunner having more reasons to gang up on me.
“What’s new?” I asked Mom as I walked over.
She regaled me of tales of her latest exploits, including a very long story about some woman named Rachel from her book club she swore only attended the meetings to eat and drink and never actually read the books. Personally, I think Rachel had the right idea. My mom was a damn fine cook. Events at her house always had a choice spread.
“What’s new and exciting with you, hun?”
“Not much,” I answered.
“Come on, there must be something new in your life,” she insisted. “Maybe a girl I should know about?”
“No, Mom. No girl you should know about. I actually have to go. My break is over,” I told her.
Mom gave me shit for another minute before letting me go. I hadn’t lied to her. The situation with Cami was not something she needed to know about. Divorced for nearly thirty years or not, my mom was a firm believer in the sanctity of marriage. Lusting after an engaged woman would not be something she’d approved of, even if Cami wasn’t actually married yet. Besides, the whole thing could run dry any day now. Unless Cami suddenly decided to leave the asshole, there would be nothing to tell Mom about.
How long does it take to push a man like me to the end of his rope?
Apparently, about a month and a half.
For the last eight weeks, I’d been playing the same fucking game with Cami. The texting turned into one phone call, then another, and somewhere along the way, it turned into calls every day while the fuckin’ fiancé was at work. That didn’t stop the texts either. Oh no. Once Natey-boy got home in the evening, it was all texts from her.
I tried to keep this under control. I kept our conversations light, avoided mentioning the asshole as much as possible. She didn’t do the same. I became her fucking therapist or some shit. I was the one she v
ented all her frustrations to. I listened for hours while she complained about the fucking luncheons with the Stepford wives, the criticism over her every action, the pressure to plan a wedding meant to be the social event of the fuckin’ season.
If I had to listen to the woman I wanted beyond fuckin’ sense bitch about the man who got to have her one more time, I would fucking snap.
I lost my patience over a week ago, finally telling her if she was so fucking unhappy to leave his ass. That shit went well.
“I’m so tired of it,” Cami said over the phone.
“I know, darlin’,” I answered. She was always tired, always over it, yet she never did a damn thing to stop it.
Obviously, my tone betrayed my mood. “Am I boring you, Gauge?” she snapped. Yeah, she actually had the nerve to bitch at me about not caring while she complained about her dickhead fiancé for the umpteenth time. Excuse me for not wanting the bullshit of a fuckin’ relationship without even getting the damn benefits.
“Actually, yes. You fuckin’ are.”
“Are you serious?”
Was I serious? She hadn’t fuckin’ known me serious yet.
“Yes, I’m fuckin’ serious. You spend all the time that asshole isn’t around complaining to me about how miserable you are. Well, wake the fuck up, Cami! You don’t have to fucking be with him. Hell, you aren’t even married! You don’t have to fight for a divorce or anything. You could walk out that fuckin’ door right now and never look back. But you don’t. You stay and let him treat you like shit, and I have no fucking idea why. Is it about his money? Are you really that pathetic to stay with him because of where he comes from?” I paused and gave her the opportunity to speak up, to defend herself, but she stayed silent.
“See? You don’t even have a fuckin’ excuse. There’s no reason for you to stay. Even you fucking know it. You could walk away right now—hell, I’d come get you—yet, you stay and let him tear you down. Well, I’m fuckin’ over it. I’m tired of listening to you bitch because you’re too much of a coward to do something about it!”
Yeah, she hung up after that. Maybe she anticipated me crawling back with an apology like a sniveling little pussy, but she’d be holding out for nothing. I might have been a dick, but I was right. She deserved better than that controlling prick.
It had not been my intent to get attached to her, but I was man enough to admit it happened. I wanted Cami beyond sense. I wanted her break to her engagement off and get on the back of my bike. That didn’t mean I was going to let her lead me around by my dick, though. I let her game go on for a while, but it ran its course. If she wasn’t willing to move on, I would. I hadn’t heard from her since that night. Not a damn word. I hadn’t reached out, either. It was probably best we lay it to rest.
The boys and I were preparing to roll out and head up to Sturgis. We had about a twenty-hour ride ahead of us and then a week of drinking, relaxing, and taking it all in. Oh, and women. Women who want to fuck a man just because he’s got a sweet bike and a patch. Exactly the type I needed. My two-month hiatus was about to come to a fuckin’ spectacular end.
Roadrunner, Slick, Daz, Sketch, and Jack were staying behind to watch the clubhouse and garage. Slick’s old lady was expecting a baby in the next month or so, and he didn’t want to risk missing out if the kid came early. Daz was still on probation from an assault and battery charge that had him locked up until a few months ago, so he couldn’t leave the state. The rest of us, we were ready to hit the road.
As I was doing one last check of my saddlebags, Tank came over. “You heard from my girl in the last couple days?” he asked.
Now, I hadn’t exactly broadcasted to Tank that I was after his daughter, but the man wasn’t a fuckin’ fool. He knew I was interested. “Nah, man. Probably won’t be any time soon,” I said meaningfully.
He shook his head. “Shit. Alright. Just let me know if ya do, yeah?”
He started to walk away, but I stopped him. “Something goin’ down with Cami?”
“I don’t know. She hasn’t called in days. It’s unlike her. I tried to get ahold of her a couple times, but she ain’t answerin’. I might be bein’ paranoid, but she’s my daughter and I worry about her.”
That worry starting to go through me? Yeah, that shit was part of why I needed to get away and get fuckin’ laid. “Look, like I said, she probably isn’t gonna be reaching out to me, but I’ll let you know if I do hear from her,” I told him.
“Thanks, brother.”
I fired up my bike a bit later and rolled out of the clubhouse lot with my brothers, but my mind strayed out to a suburban street. I wondered if I should reach out, ask if she was alright—I shook that shit off, though. She had her dad. She could call him if she needed anything. She wasn’t my fuckin’ responsibility.
From there on, I focused entirely on the road and considered the type of piece I wanted to get my hands on once we made it. Maybe a blonde. Blue eyes. Anything but dark hair, brown eyes, and fuckin’ pouty lips. I needed that shit out of my head.
“Hey, baby girl. You really oughta answer when your old man calls, you know. I haven’t heard from you in a few days, startin’ to worry. The boys and I are ridin’ out for Sturgis tonight, so I might not get your call ‘til we get there, but give me a ring and let me know you’re okay. Love you, Cam.” My father’s voice faded out and the automated instructions from my voicemail took over. I deleted that message from the night before, along with the two others he’d left over the previous week. I didn’t mean to make my dad worry, but my head was a little full at the moment and I knew he wouldn’t be particularly helpful in sorting it.
It had been ten days since Gauge laid into me about Nathaniel—not that I was counting or anything. It was hard not to notice the sudden and complete loss of the man who had practically become my confidant over the last two months. Alright, to be fair, I knew there was something between Gauge and I that surpassed friendship, and I was at least partially to blame for that.
Blame. It was such a negative word. Should blame really be the word? Was whatever blossoming between us a crime that should be blamed on a guilty party? If it was, it was probably fair to say the guilty one was me. After all, I was the one who had made promises of a future to someone else—even if that someone was far guiltier of infidelity than I was. Yet, I could not help myself when it came to Gauge. One minute, everything would be innocent, and then, I would destroy that by asking or saying something I absolutely should not as an engaged woman.
I had gotten so comfortable with him, I started unloading my frustrations about Nathaniel, despite knowing it was grossly inappropriate. Gauge made me comfortable in a way no one had in years, and I used that feeling to justify behavior I should have been ashamed of—if not for betraying Nathaniel, who I honestly was not concerned about, then at least for the way I was using Gauge. He made his feelings plain that first night when he cornered me after I had purchased from Dallas. Still, I guess I let myself believe a biker like him would not be interested in anything serious. As if I, myself, was not the product of a biker who fell in love.
The sound of Nathaniel arriving home shook me from my musings. No doubt, his entrance would include no explanation of why that was happening over three hours late. Somewhere along the way, I became such a pushover, he no longer felt any need to lie or justify his actions. Well, some of my recent revelations included not letting him get away with that anymore. I could feel the fire inside of me again, burning hazardously hot. Flare-ups had been escaping for days, but this was different. This felt dangerous.
He came in from the garage, his face immediately scrunching in disapproval at my clothing: yoga pants and a tank top. Nathaniel expected me to be well dressed, even within the confines of our own home.
